


Secret Timeloop Phrase

by SickSiren



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Background Relationships, Church dies but its okay he gets better, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Background Characters - Freeform, Rated M for Donut, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, does it count as established relationship if theyve technically been dating for two months, donut is the backbone of this household, namely churboose at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SickSiren/pseuds/SickSiren
Summary: Simmons has been aware of time loops ever since his surgery. With no memory of the events, only recordings, Simmons has to brave his worst fear: emotional vulnerability.That was a joke, but also, yeah, that’s pretty much it.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Secret Timeloop Phrase

Simmons wakes up, brushes his entirely real teeth, because his surgery may have stripped off his skin like peeling an orange, but he never lost a tooth.

He checks his backlog, even though he hasn’t seen any abnormalities in months.

Thankfully, he’s already in front of the sink, because he chokes on his toothpaste.

Fifty fucking seven. That’s a big number.

He checks his internal clock and he doesn’t have nearly enough time to review all the footage, even if his past selves already reviewed it to check for overlap and edit out anything consistent. Twenty four hours, fifty seven times.

He thinks he might have to code a new program to check for relevant information that could end the time loop (not that its ever seemed to matter what he’s done), but it looks like future past him already sorted it out.

There’s a folder titled ‘relevant’ with a much more manageable two hours of footage. Of course, its already set to two times speed, so it was closer to four hours and would only be getting longer once he edited today into the bunch.

He slides his viewing application into his cyborg eye’s vision, leaving him with questionable depth perception of real life, but he has to get to his job.

Grif, wearing his original skin, greets him on the bus.

He nods in return, too focused on reading the subtitles he added to the video, leaving one half of his hearing for Grif to nag him.

“Whatcha reading?” Grif asks, bored.

Grif wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, Simmons liked him enough to donate half his skin. The hospital wasn’t exactly keeping skin around for such extensive grafts, and Grif would have been low on the list due to being overweight, with damaged kidneys and lungs outside of the whole ‘hit by a tank’ thing.

Quietly, Simmons thinks its shitty that Grif could have died because they thought he was unhealthy due to his weight.

Well, he was unhealthy. Mostly due to smoking. Not because of his weight.

“Mhm.”

“I could say anything right now and you’d just hum, huh?”

What Grif was saying was consistent with Simmons’ previous days iterations, presumably after the first day to account for the fact he wasn’t watching anything the first day.

Simmons definitely didn’t check the first day’s files. Clearly, he didn’t think it was relevant when he sorted them.

Then again, maybe future past him assumed he’d check the first day thoroughly, because that’s what he usually did.

“So, you’ll do my portion of the work today, right?” Grif prompts as they step off the bus.

That’s dialogue three, even though he couldn’t really hear what Grif said.

“No way, asshole. Do your own work.” He recites from memory, watching the work day play out.

Meaningless dialogue like this wasn’t relevant, but was helpful for working through the day mindlessly.

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

No response necessary, because Donut appeared in three seconds.

“Simmons!” Donut waves and Simmons… well, previous iteration Simmons ignored him, so.

“Seriously, what are you watching? Porn?” Grif scoffs, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

“If I wanted that, I’d have talked to Donut.” Simmons responds, delving through the footage which was up to lunch now. Weird, the day was going faster than he expected. What was the compilation like? This looked like basic information, so there were probably some outlier days creating the bulk of the video.

“Hah, good one, Simmons.” Donut manages with a sad, dejected smile.

Rewind. That is not what he said yesterday.

‘If you’re exploring your sexuality you can always come to me.’ Donut had winked in the video.

“That’s not what you said yesterday.” Simmons blurts before he can think better of it.

“Uh, what?” Grif squints at him. “Donut wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Uh, we were on a call.” Simmons covers quickly, making eye contact with Donut who, at the very least, looks similarly shocked.

“Yeah, sorry. What was it I said yesterday?”

Shit, this would sound so much worse coming out of Simmons mouth, but if someone else was a part of the time loop…

“You offered, uh, to help me explore my sexuality.” Simmons mutters, barely resisting covering his face. That sounded so, so wrong after joking about porn.

“What.” Grif deadpans in the background.

“Simmons, you should come with me, right now.” Donut gives no explanation, dragging him off as Simmons finally hits the end of the basics for his footage. He pauses, considering this had definitely not happened before.

“Wait, what’s Grif going to think?” He hisses, speed walking to keep up.

“This is way more important!” Donut huffs. “Just let him make something up.”

“Uh, have you met Grif? Whatever he thinks up will be way worse than–“ Donut drags them both into a closet, pressed chest to chest. “… Never mind, this is probably what he’s imagining.”

“You know about the time loop?” Donut’s hands fall on his shoulders and, as jacked and beautiful as Donut was, Simmons was distinctly uncomfortable.

“Uh, yeah? So do you?”

This entire conversation was ridiculous.

“How do you know about the time loop?” Donut stresses, pressing him against the wall like he weighed nothing.

“Hello? I have all fifty seven fucking days recorded on… uh, myself.” Simmons flushes, finally shoving the man off.

“That’s weird, all the computers here reset to the previous day.”

“Tell me about it. Having to do all my work twice sucks.” Simmons backtracks with a frown. “Hey, I’m more than a computer!”

“I thought no one else remembered! Oh, Simmons I could kiss you right now!”

“Uh, actually, I don’t remember. I’m reviewing the footage right now. Recordings yes, memories no.” He summarizes. “Do we really have to talk about this in a closet?”

“I could turn on a light?”

“Night vision.” Simmons sighs. “Look, what do you want?”

“No matter how this day ends, Church dies.” Donut explains with a grim expression.

Its so out of place on his face that it takes a minute for Simmons to catch up.

“He what?” His voice goes shrill and cracks in the middle, because he is a nerd, and that definitely wasn’t in his relevant footage of the day.

“You probably don’t know, you wouldn’t be told for…” Donut cringes. “Well, I don’t know, I’ve never made it past today.”

“Because Church dies. Okay.” Simmons frowns. “Wait, what about all the other time loops? You remember those, too?”

“Yeah,” Donut admits. “Church dies at the end of all of them.”

“What, the universe is just dead set on protecting Church?” Simmons rethought that. “Or on killing him, repetitively?”

“Actually, its me.” Donut shrugs, like that’s no big deal. “I can loop time, but only for a day.”

“… Today’s already so weird,” Simmons decides, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why the fuck has it taken fifty seven times so far?” Some traitorous part of his head that sounds like Grif says, ‘are you aiming for sixty nine?’

“I don’t know.” Donut pouts, shaking his head. “Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. Me and Wash can’t figure it out.”

“Wait, Wash knows, too?”

“He’s magic, too, and I don’t mean with his fingers.”

“I was wondering when the innuendo would appear.” If there was a Donut drinking game, everyone would die.

“Listen, we need to review your footage. You may have caught something me and Wash didn’t since we have wildly different days.”

“No, hold on, how come Wash knows?”

“Time loop accident.” Donut explains, rolling his eyes. “I tried diverting a timeline to prevent his injury, but it just made everything worse. Since he’s magic, though, half of him remembers being shot and half of him doesn’t.”

“That explains the inconsistency in his memory to the point of random chance in previous loops.” Simmons likes that explanation, he thinks. Its logical compared to, ‘Wash just directly disobeys time as a construct.’ “What’s his… thing?”

“His thing?”

“His power.” Simmons felt vaguely like he was trying to open a jar of pickles getting Donut to open up.

“Oh, he’s like a cat.”

“Elaborate.”

“Really lucky? Nine lives? Copycat abilities? Enhanced senses and dexterity?” Donut waves his hand vaguely. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Okay, so why does my technology store data from previous time loops if nothing else does?”

Donut shrugs, but Simmons hadn’t really expected an answer.

“Forget about that, silly, for now we need to get into that head of yours!” Donut taps his forehead lightly.

“Cool idea, I still have work.” Simmons frowns.

“Oh, that? We’ll just transfer you to the freelancer division.” Donut finally, finally pulls them out of the closet.

“I like where I work.”

Okay, red team’s chairs all sucked, the keyboards stuck, and nobody got any work done besides him.

“We’re talking about Church’s life here,” Donut scolds him, yanking him into the de-facto blue team’s leader’s office. “Church!”

“Donut?” Church grunts, sitting up. “And… whoever you are.”

“Howdy! I need Simmons here transferred to the Freelancer division.”

Church freezes in his chair. “Simmons? Seriously?”

“… I feel like I should be insulted.” Simmons’ lips thin into a line. He didn’t really know Church, outside of him being the ‘opposing’ journalism division to red team’s coding section, but he was ready to make negative first impressions.

“You should be.” Church swivels around to face Donut. “Give it to me straight, doc. Am I dying?”

“You know the answer to that.” Donut smirks. “You won’t be for much longer, though! Simmons is here to come down hard on that little problem.”

“… Whatever. Just get him out of here. I’ll put him in the Freelancer’s system.”

Simmons never really understood the Freelancers division until now. Blue or Red team could work for them and vice versa. However, they seemed to open applications randomly, so it had only been Wash, Carolina, and Donut.

“Won’t we have to repeat this everyday?” Simmons internally winces at the lost time of explaining and transferring.

“Nope, because you’re going to be the one processing it.” Donut pats his head which Simmons immediately brushes off. “Church, hook up with Simmons.”

“Okay, that one was definitely on purpose.” Simmons scowls, taking it upon himself to plug the keyboard into one of his USB ports and transfer the browser application to his monitor. “Go ahead and type in your username.”

“This is going to take forever, isn’t it?” Church grumbles, but thankfully listens.

“Hopefully, only once!” Donut chirps.

“Password.” Simmons definitely doesn’t record it for nefarious purposes. “Press the enter key. Okay, actually, give me the mouse.”

A few clicks later, Simmons is officially a freelancer.

“How do we know if that works across time loops?” Simmons asks, unplugging himself and momentarily forgetting how to speak without visuals.

“We find out on tomorrow’s today.” Donut sighs. “We probably won’t figure this out first try.”

“Agreed. Not sure how much help I’ll be, considering I haven’t figured it out, either.”

“Well, the more the merrier!” Donut grins. “Thanks, Church, we’ll be going now.”

Church grumbles, missing the port for his keyboard several times in a row.

“So, would you mind hooking up with the television?” Donut asks, pointing to the…

“Why the fuck do you guys have a flatscreen?”

Donut smirks evilly because he is evil to have hoarded this great possession to himself. “Well, being friends with Church has some benefits.”

“Donut?” Wash asks, looking half haunted, half tired. The bags under his eyes are deep bruises, making him look older than he is. “Why’s he here?”

“He has footage of the time loop.”

To Wash’s credit, he takes it much better than Simmons.

“Okay.” Wash blinks twice, nodding to himself. “Put it on the big screen.”

Simmons can’t argue with that.

He rewinds to the beginning and restarts, zoning out as the start of his day plays. There wasn’t anything particularly embarrassing on there, so, it was fine.

It was the unwatched footage that worried him.

He signs in on the nearest computer and starts his usual red team work instead of worrying obsessively about the possibility of fucking up and not getting a do-over because they would remember it.

… Or he can multitask and do both.

His messenger dings and he silently thanks his coworker for the distraction.

GRIF: where r u  
GRIF: r u n donut  
GRIF: i dont wanna know actually??

SIMMONS: Don’t worry, he just had me transferred to the freelancers.

GRIF: wtf why  
GRIF: ive been wanting that position for 3 years  
GRIF: do nothing, sit around, occasionally take weird jobs for money  
GRIF: is

SIMMONS: What?

GRIF: nvm

Simmons, having very good instincts from what was probably a year longer knowing Grif than Grif knowing him, decided to ignore that.

SIMMONS: Whatever. I have nothing to do right now.

GRIF: see? freelancers man

SIMMONS: Yes, so…

GRIF: u can just say u want to play the age game  
GRIF: ok 18 y/o wat were u doing  
GRIF: i got into harvard

SIMMONS: That’s my fucking dream school.

GRIF: yes and?

SIMMONS: … When I was 18 I got kicked out of the house, disowned, and disinherited.

GRIF: jfc

SIMMONS: GTG (for totally unrelated reasons. I’m over the disowning thing.)

Well, not entirely, but he had more time to process it than most people.

Point being, the first day had just ended.

Relevant footage, start.

Any differences, any outliers from the first iteration, all of them would be compiled here in the final hour and thirty minutes of this video. With any luck, everything they needed would be here and they wouldn’t have to painstakingly go over every day one at a time.

There was a jarring transition from laying down to standing.

“Day thirteen,” Simmons annotated to himself, followed by a long section of code. “New program sorts out any overlapping time frames. File can be found in hard drive C, using the Python application.”

Python? Why the fuck would he use Python?

“No other languages worked.” Past Simmons muttered gloomily.

“What are you working on?” Grif interrupted, one hand settling on his shoulder out of the corner of his vision.

“Well, its almost the end of today and nothing’s changed.” Simmons sighed. “Hi, Grif. I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“What’s the secret time loop phrase?”

“Unless you changed it, its just secret time loop phrase.”

“What the fuck.” Grif grunted, pulling up a chair. “How many times have you had to explain this to me?”

“This? Zero. You gave me the phrase two years ago.”

“You’ve been stuck in a time loop for two years?”

“No, dipshit, there’s been multiple time loops.” Simmons sighed, long suffering, as he hooked himself up to the monitor. “I’m only saying this because I’m certain today’s not over. Will you help me go over this footage?”

“Not sure how much help I’ll be. Why’s time even resetting in the first place?”

“No idea. Maybe time’s just glitchy and keeps pushing reset.” Simmons snorted. “Some time loops are only a few days, but I can tell this is a long one. Usually something major changes when the loop’s about to end.”

“Okay, footage.” Grif plugged a USB into the computer. “Just download it all onto there. What am I looking for?”

“Why the fuck are you like this?” Simmons bit out, obediently starting the upload, not download, thank you very much.

“Like what?”

“Helpful.” Simmons shook his head. “You’re weirdly consistent on helping me with this. Shit, you always believe me, too.”

“Well, hearing you go from insisting everything’s logic and rationale to saying that time’s broken?” Grif clicked his tongue. “I’m just saying, shit’s shocking. Maybe I’m only helping because I’m still processing you breaking character.”

“Yeah, you said that last time, too.” Simmons sighed again, his vision briefly obscured by a hand massaging his forehead.

“Were you hoping for a different answer?” Grif joked.

The time stamp snapped roughly twenty minutes forward.

They were still in the work room, Grif watching Simmons’ day like a movie when he started laughing.

“Come look at this.” Grif waved him over.

“What? Grif! This isn’t relevant.”

“Definitely is. You have gotta put this in your weird montage.” He rewinded the video to the start.

“Oh, fuck you.”

Contrary to his words, the next clip playing was the same as on the screen. The file was labelled with the date, version zero, so it must have been the first day.

The first time around went horribly. Without time loop days and counting to watch while he was getting ready, Simmons picked up a book and nearly walked into someone while reading it on his way out of the lobby.

He made it to the bus on time, barely, seeing as he was always slower when he was reading a particularly good story.

The vehicle lurched into motion before Simmons could even think of grabbing onto the pole, because of course all the seats are taken. He was disabled, he should get a fucking seat.

Grif caught him.

Simmons’ book went flying, but Grif’s hand slipped around his waist and tugged him farther into the bus with one hand still gripping the pole for stability.

“Falling for me?” Grif asked, cheekily.

The tape cut out to Simmons’ computer, his voice rough and congested.

Present Simmons winces. He always sneezed when he cried.

(And Grif flirting was totally, seriously, one hundred and ten percent fine. Sometimes, Grif made jokes, and Simmons just happened to be there.)

“Day twenty six.” Simmons announced, showing off a new file on screen that was sure to match one in his brain. “Don’t open this folder unless you’re a masochist or desperate for solutions. I know I was, that’s why I opened it. I didn’t…” Simmons cleared his throat. “I didn’t find anything important.”

The clip cut to Simmons in front of the water cooler, eavesdropping.

“My father’s coming into town tonight.” Church’s voice was clear, amplified by his cybernetic enhancements.

“Our father.” Carolina corrected.

“Why are you telling me?” Tucker refuted, followed by the telltale sound of an abused vending machine. “Piece of crap won’t work.”

The file was labelled for day sixteen, so who knows how much of this was changed from the original day. Hell, Simmons likely didn’t have the original conversation on file, only getting desperate enough to seek out other possibilities once two weeks had gone by.

“Go home early tonight.” Carolina offered, but her tone was forceful. “Go see your kid.”

“Tucker found Church’s body in the original.” Donut explains in real time. “We’re trying to avoid that.”

“Why not keep him around? The more people keeping an eye on Church, the better.” Simmons darts a look to Wash, who had gone still listening to his cousins and his coworker.

“Alternate timelines can give people nightmares.” Donut explains. “He didn’t really know what happened, so its better to let him rest. See Junior.”

“Makes sense.” Simmons agrees, even though it really didn’t to him. If they could clue Tucker in, he might know to watch for clues.

Of course, Simmons hadn’t told anyone other than Grif about the time loops until now. Obviously, the freelancers hadn’t, either.

“Is Carolina also magic?” Simmons asks, seeing as the current tape was just Carolina and Church quietly discussing what to do. To her credit, Carolina didn’t so much as imply this wasn’t their first time going through the day. If she had, maybe Simmons would have been a freelancer before this.

“She has basic strength and speed enhancements.” Wash says it so casually, as if superpowers were totally normal. Since Tucker had left the screen, it wasn’t anything Wash hadn’t heard before and he was busy typing on his computer.

Maybe they were normal. Simmons wouldn’t know.

“Then why do I remember?” Simmons rolls his eyes at himself. “Well, not exactly. You get the idea.”

“Surgery side effect?” Donut grins. “Or maybe you’re magic, too!”

“Excuse me, cyborg.” He gestures to himself. “Clearly sci-fi, not fantasy.”

“Well, Carolina doesn’t remember, either.” Donut amends. “She only knows because of Wash.”

“So, timeline memories aren’t just dependent on magic, you need some sort of interference to interact.” Simmons points to Wash. “Schrödinger’s cat,” then to Donut, “direct cause,” finally, himself. “Technology. Though, we can’t say for certain with such a small sample size.”

“Sounds right.” Wash agrees, frowning at his screen and rubbing his neck.

“See, I knew you’d be useful!” Donut grins, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You’re our ace in the hole.”

“No promises.” Simmons shoves him off. Donut was family, but Simmons hated all forms of physical contact.

Except, he certainly wasn’t complaining when Grif caught him on the bus. He wished he could remember how it felt.

“What are you doing, anyways?” Simmons segues, looking to Wash.

“Work.” He says, dryly. “Redoing it each day is a pain, especially when I can’t…” Wash swallows thickly, but his eyes turn determined. “Can’t always remember what I wrote.”

That would suck, Simmons winces. At least he had his recordings to cheat off of.

Huh.

“If you store your work in me you’ll be able to recover it tomorrow.”

“Right! We’re not sure if it works for the internet, like changing Simmons’ job, but you should be able to get inside of Simmons just fine.” Donut promises.

“Uh, right.” Simmons agrees, because Wash has his signature ‘don’t talk shit about Donut’ death glare. “Here, just send me what you have and I’ll copy paste it, then you can use my keyboard to keep writing.”

Wash doesn’t say anything, just sends him an attachment he immediately downloads and re-opens before plugging himself into the keyboard.

“Go nuts, dude.”

Donut laughs, light and real. “Good one, Simmons!”

Oh. He guesses that was a pun.

Wash falls into the seat next to him, Simmons pulling up the document on the monitor so he could watch what he was doing. As it was, Washington was essentially streaming him a paper for medical research. He didn’t recognize most of the patients involved, thankfully, but Washington and one of the triplets were on the list.

His chat pinged.

Forcing Washington’s document into the background, Simmons opened up his and Grif’s chat. He trusted Donut to watch his memories, so he could afford to multitask.

GRIF: listen u n donut arent fucking right

SIMMONS: NO! Why would you think that??

GRIF: ty @god  
GRIF: look this morning was weird  
GRIF: n i know u n donut arent ‘technically’ red team rn  
GRIF: (which sarge is pissed abt btw haha)  
GRIF: but u and donut

Grif was typing for a long time before he stopped, two minutes later.

GRIF: idk its just weird

SIMMONS: Agreed?

GRIF: i just think if u were gay u could do better

Well, today was never going to be set in stone.

SIMMONS: I am.

GRIF: … am what

SIMMONS: Gay.

GRIF: ur in an all LGBT  
GRIF: ok i take that back all LGBT workplace and whatever the fuck lopez and sarge are (im not asking) and u havent come out to me.  
GRIF: weve known each other for years

SIMMONS: … I’ve never dated and shut down around girls. What did you think was happening?

GRIF: that ur very straight w an anxiety disorder?  
GRIF: how tf are u more fucked up around girls than boys who ur actually interested in

SIMMONS: My brain’s so caught up in ‘wow, hot’ that I forget to be dysfunctional.

“Simmons, are you listening?” A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his chat window.

SIMMONS: GTG! (Sorry.)

GRIF: lmao

“I am now.” Simmons closes the chat.

“Could you pretty please set up the first day’s footage? Your montage ended.” Donut taps his chin. “And maybe a note to let you know which day we left off on? I know you’ll be behind, but me and Wash will remember it, even if you don’t. I hate to leave you out of the loop, but we really need to blow our way through these days if we want to save Church.”

“Whether I’ll remember is debatable.” Wash smiles despite his words. “My short term memory is still terrible. I’ve written the same sentence four times in this paragraph alone.”

“Church is altering his schedule, routine 3A, and–“ Carolina comes to a dead stop. “What’s he doing here?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the replacement computer.” Simmons quips, pointing to where Wash was still typing connected to him.

Carolina sneers at him and Simmons barely holds back a squeal, because now his actions have consequences.

Maybe Carolina wouldn’t remember, but she would almost certainly have access to the footage, even if it took her a few loops to catch up.

“‘Lina, so good to see you! Glad to hear you got my text.” Donut greets her effortlessly, sweeping her into the room. “Here’s the skinny. Simmons has footage of the time loops and we’re all going to be looking through it!”

“We’re that desperate?” Carolina raises a condescending eyebrow.

“I know you don’t remember,” Donut says, blithe and careless like he was talking about the weather. “But today’s the fifty seventh.”

“You’ve never gone that long before.” Carolina frowns in concern, tipping Donut’s head this way and that like she was checking for injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy!” Donut’s laugh is nervous, but he follows Carolina’s finger with his eyes as she tests him as if he has a concussion. “It’s getting harder to reset, but not as bad as I thought it’d be!”

“Fine. Split the computer’s footage into thirds. You take first part, I take second, Wash will take the third. If we find anything important, we tell you so we don’t lose it when the day resets.”

“Simmons can watch, too, actually! And anything he saves to his files will be constant despite looping, so just tell him and he can write it down for us all to look at later.”

“Actually, you can annotate it yourselves.” Simmons offers. “We’ll need a few more keyboards, but it should mark down the timestamp and whatever notes you want to make.”

“Fine. Donut, second fourth, computer, first.”

“My name’s Simmons.” He grumbles, but obligingly hooks up a few more keyboards, disconnecting from the T.V and switching to the computer monitors to stream four parts of the footage at once.

Carolina takes out her own earbuds along with Wash who wears a chunky pair of headphones, but Donut grins sheepishly at Simmons.

He tosses Donut a spare pair of headphones before he can ask. Its not like he needed them. He could play the audio internally.

It was… strange, splitting his attention like that. He could vaguely make out what everyone was typing, felt himself stutter whenever someone rewinded, but mostly he was focused on the footage of his first day.

It was choppy. A huge chunk from on the bus and presumably making his way into the building was gone.

It disappeared at lunchtime, too.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to question his editing skills.

Simmons accidentally jams his toothbrush into the back of his throat and gags.

Sixty days. He starts up the footage in the relevant folder while he coughs, squinting at the footage in front of him.

“Hi, Simmons!” Donut grins, waving at him like Simmons is some giant camera and he is an aspiring youtuber who just got a new ring light. “Great news! You are not alone. Us here in the Freelancers are helping you out with your footage and you’re one of us now. Don’t worry, everything’s been processed, and I’ll meet you at the door. Your past self left some more detailed notes. That’s all, bye!” Donut waves again and Simmons…

Simmons wrote:  
*Donut resets time to save Church  
*Wash might remember might not send him this attachment (medicalresearch.txt)  
*Grif messaged you on you and now there’s a conversation that never happened on your messenger. Delete it.  
*Footage finished last loop. Now delving into the forbidden footage (check relevant footage)

Ideas:  
Church and Carolina’s father visits. Church dies. Tucker was a witness and now isn’t. Multiple attempts prove that no one witnesses the death, only the aftermath. No matter how hard we try.  
Preventing Church from going does not prevent his death.  
Church dead body footage is in forbidden footage folder 2. Its already reviewed. Nothing relevant, no obvious injury, no murder weapon, the police say he presumably died of natural causes. There was no time for a proper examination since his death is around 11:40 p.m. Donut’s powers only work for the day.  
WARNING: any messages sent on your hardware save even if the timeline is reset. Its really confusing and terrible just don’t bother.

To do:  
Future Simmons, this one’s up to you. Review footage that made you sob with people who actually turned out to be great friends, even if you only know them as strangers, and possibly embarrass yourself or watch alone and miss something important for saving Church.

That wasn’t terrifying at all, Simmons thinks, starting up the relevant footage post-Donut and watching himself cry. It was a short video, only his own warning to follow Donut’s welcome.

He barely makes it to the bus stop on time.

He grips the same pole as Grif who raises an eyebrow at his rumpled appearance. 

“Believe me, I know.” Simmons bites out, wanting to cross his arms, but not wanting to fall over.

“I didn’t say anything.” Grif smirks. “Something up?”

Simmons blinks, opening his messenger and deleting his own coming out.

“No, just woke up late.”

“Lucky.” Grif groans, tipping his head back. “I had the weirdest dream and woke up before my alarm.”

“What about?”

“Huh?”

“What was your dream about–“ The bus stops unexpectedly, sending Simmons crashing into Grif’s arms and forcing a heated blush that was fighting to rise to his cheeks.

“It was something like this, actually.” Grif admits, sounding far too breathless despite Simmons being the one falling. “I think I said,” he clears his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Falling for me already?”

Externally, Simmons’ dazedly wraps his arm around Grif instead of trying to hold onto a filthy pole on a public bus.

Internally, alarm bells go off, and he pulls up his first day and fast forwards on instinct.

Stumble, catch, falling for me?

“Are you serious?” His voice cracks awkwardly down the middle, his own nerves getting to him.

“Uh,” Grif’s eyes dart to their linked arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“You–that’s a terrible pick up line. And saying you dreamed about this? Even worse.” Simmons spits out, trying not to think about the number sixty.

“Is it working?” Grif asks, leading them off the bus.

“No.” Simmons gulps, watching Grif’s barely-there frown. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been… I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Grif turns to him so quickly Simmons wouldn’t be surprised if he had whiplash.

“You what?” Grif croaks, just as Donut rounds the corner. Simmons didn’t even remember entering the building.

“Simmons! Ready for your first day as a freelancer?” Donut chirps, clapping his hands together.

“Sorry, we can talk about this later.” He apologizes, slipping his arm out of Grif’s. “I have work to do.”

“You’re a freelancer now?” Grif shakes his head. “Later. I’m holding you to that.”

He nods, taking a deep breath and turning away from his best friend and the only person he could see himself being with for–

For now, he tells himself sternly. Forever was too serious for a relationship that didn’t exist.

“Listen, I thought about it.” For three seconds before he fell into Grif. “I’d really appreciate if you all watched the forbidden footage with me.”

Donut wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Sims. We’re here for you.”

“What’s he doing here?” Carolina asks, the moment she steps through the door, followed by Church.

“He knows about the time loops.” Donut smiles thinly. “He’s been recording it all.”

“We must be desperate,” Carolina mutters at the same time Church says, “Give it to me straight, doc. Am I dying?”

Donut nods, his brow furrowed and unwilling to give any more information than that.

“Come on, Lina. Sit down. We only have one more folder of footage.”

“What of?” She asks, while Church thankfully leaves.

“We don’t know.” Simmons scowls, wishing his past self left a more in depth warning.

“It seemed pretty serious.” Donut shakes his head. “There were some gaping holes in the days we watched–I can only assume they went there.”

Wash stumbles in, looking at Simmons with bleary eyes. “I didn’t know we were adopting.”

“Simmons knows about the time loops,” Donut repeats. “We were just about to review some footage.”

“Oh, hold on.” Simmons turns on the nearest computer to send Wash his work only to realize the message was already there, dated ten minutes later. “Uh, guess its already sent. Your paper should be. Yeah.”

He is not the most eloquent person and above all else he is nervous.

Terrified, he thinks, linking up his systems with the already paired bluetooth of the T.V.

A stumble. Grif’s face. “Falling for me?”

Simmons rolled his eyes, evident only by the change in view. “You’re a few years too late with that line.” He scoffs, grabbing the pole with–

He could see the exact moment his own words caught up with him.

“What?” Grif asked softly, reaching out with his free arm.

“Fuck.” He cursed, turning away. “Forget I said that.”

You will anyways, Simmons thinks dully as his past self is dragged into soft arms he knew about from experience. A different experience than this one.

He will never live this perfect, messy first day ever again.

“I don’t want to.” Grif said, deceptively strong as Simmons melted into him. “In fact, I’d really like for you to rephrase that, just so I know I’m not making things up.”

“What do you want? A love letter?” Simmons frowned, looking away.

“If that’s what you’re into.” Grif sighed, short and nerve wracking. “I had no idea.”

“You have one of my kidneys.” Simmons replied flatly. “I don’t exactly have a lot of those to give away.”

“Shit. I mean, uh, me too.”

“Yeah, we both have one of my kidneys–“

“No, I like you, too.”

Simmons blinked.

“We have work.” He said, rather romantically, as the bus stopped.

“Are you sure you want us here?” Donut whispers, squeezing his hand.

“I’m not even sure I want to be here.” He replies, halfway between dumbfounded and distraught.

“Oh, fuck you.” Simmons bit out in a new segment.

“You wish.” Grif chirped, which was normal, right? Grif made sex jokes and Simmons just… happened to be there.

Simmons was there and choking on his own spit. He coughed, pulling back as if burned, a helpful pop up noting that he was experiencing distress as indicated by how hot his face was. He could have fried an egg on his face.

“Geez, Simmons,” Grif frowned. “That bad?”

Simmons on the screen within the video, having just tripped into Grif, helpfully piped up, “You’re a few years too late with that line.”

He stumbled forth to pause the video again, face burning and praying that whatever mysterious forces controlled the time loop would have mercy on him.

“Wait, what?” Grif blurted, darting looks between the computer and Simmons.

“I changed my mind, I definitely don’t need your help reviewing footage.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.” Grif stood slowly, approaching Simmons like a cornered animal. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t actually remember these things.” He hissed out, hitting the wall behind him.

“You wouldn’t mind if I pressed play again, then, would you?” Grif pressed, stopping a foot away from him.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Unless you want to tell me yourself?” Grif crossed his arms, fingers twitching.

“Guess.” Simmons glared, puffing himself up like a particularly affronted bird.

Grif does no such thing. He simply takes–took, present Simmons reminds himself, he is not his past–another step.

He pulled Simmons in by his neck, another arm slipping around his waist, and the footage goes dark as his eyes slipped shut.

Simmons fights back a small sniffle, unsure how much of this he could take. Donut holds his hand in a vice grip, silent tears leaking down his own cheek.

The next clip rolled.

“Well, its–“ Simmons checked his watch, despite having a clock in his head. “Ten fifty eight. Nothing’s changed about today.”

“What do you mean?” Silently, Simmons takes solace in the fact that Grif is always confused.

“Secret time loop phrase.” Simmons sighed, tipping Grif’s chin closer to him and capturing him in a chaste kiss. “I just wanted to know what it was like,” he said, quiet against the darkness that surrounded them. His hand gripped Grif’s chin, cold metal mismatched with a patch of skin that used to be his. “I see my past selves. Kissing you. Laughing with you. Saying they’re in love with you. It–it hurts, Grif. You hurt.”

Grif took a shuddering breath, gripping his wrist as he searched Simmons’ eyes. “You’re… Ten fifty eight. Its going to reset soon? We’re going to lose this?”

Simmons nodded, internally pleased with his deductive capabilities.

“And you only told me because you knew it’d be gone soon.”

“Yeah. We’ll never be this version of ourselves again.”

“Tell me,” Grif pleaded, though Simmons knows it would fall on deaf ears. “Let me in, don’t wait until the last second like now.”

“I can’t fall into you everyday, Grif.” Simmons let go. “I can’t just pretend every time is the first, even if I don’t remember it.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. But, uh, what do you mean? Don’t remember it?”

“I record every minute of my life.” Simmons tapped his mechanical eye. It was cool in theory, but blurred the recording.

“So when I fell into that cave–“

“Captured forever. Its my wallpaper.”

“That’s–nope, never mind. I don’t want you pretending to have never done this before. Just tell me we have.” Grif’s hand reached for Simmons’ cheek, the tip of his finger barely visible as it rubbed the smooth metal under his eye. “I’ve spent this last year convinced I was chasing a straight boy.”

“What would it change?” Simmons covered Grif’s hand with his own, stilling his movements and sandwiching him between flesh and metal. “I’m just going to break my own heart, over and over. This isn’t the first time, you know. I’ve told you about time loops before. It never lasts.”

“This isn’t the first time loop or this isn’t the first time you told me about this time loop?” Grif’s nose scrunched up and Simmons can’t fault himself for leaning forward and kissing the wrinkle away.

“Both.”

“And I never found out?”

“In the end, you never even knew something was wrong. No matter what came before it.”

“That’s horrifying.” Grif looked to the ground. “I understand why you wouldn’t tell me. Just for the record? Future permission to do this, literally any day, time loop or no.”

“I know.” Simmons sighed. “We’ve done this before.”

The footage cut to early morning, making it to the bus on time and wrapping one hand around the pole while pulling Grif into a kiss with the other.

“Uh, am I dreaming?” Grif asked, grip slackening and stumbling into Simmons once the bus starts to move.

“Secret time loop phrase.” Simmons’ voice is thick and gross and he sniffled obnoxiously as he helped Grif steady himself.

“Rich, have you been crying?”

Simmons’ sobs start in earnest at that, Grif’s arm wrapped around a version of himself he’ll never remember.

He thunks his head down on the desk.

“Yeah, I–you don’t know what its like. I get to say I love you and then its gone. I wake up and don’t even know it happened until I’m brushing my teeth.” Simmons covered the only eye he had that was capable of crying. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Hey, what do you say we be lazy for today?” Grif suggested, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“I could really use it.” Simmons admitted, still teary eyed and useless.

“Here, I’ll call us in.” They passed their stop just as Grif dialed. “Sarge, bad news. We’re playing hooky.”

Simmons snorted, covering his mouth.

“Uh, I know I still have a vacation day, and Simmons never even used one of his.” Grif paused to listen to the yelling on the other side of the phone. “Yes, I’m stealing your best employee. What? No, its completely voluntary. Here, Simmons, prove it to him.”

“Hello?” Simmons answered, sounding miserable.

“Permission granted, son.” Sarge agreed instantly. “Put me back on with that no-good slacker.” Simmons handed the phone back.

“Uh huh. Yeah, I’ll do my best.” Grif grinned. “Wait, is this a shovel talk?” His voice pitched up in delight, followed by raucous laughter as Sarge hung up on him. “Come on, I know just the place.” He pulled Simmons off the bus at the next stop and they walked in comfortable, if not slightly tense, silence as pavement turned to grass.

“Where are we going?” He finally asked.

“My secret smoking spot.” Grif winked, tugging him up a small hill.

In the middle was a stone bench and a tree trunk with an ash tray. “Wow, romantic.” Simmons said, voice drier than a desert in comparison to his earlier croaking.

“Nobody comes here,” Grif promised, pushing him to sit down and falling into place next to him.

“Except you.” Simmons tried to smirk, failing miserably.

“What, you want me gone?”

Instead of answering, Simmons rested his head on his shoulder and intertwined their fingers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Simmons sighed. “Can we just sit here until… almost midnight?”

“Well, we’ll need to eat.”

“I think we passed a sandwich shop on our way here. The one with the bread you love?”

“Yeah,” Grif agreed fondly. “We can stay here.”

Thankfully, the footage cut.

“I can’t watch this.” Simmons interrupts, pausing the video as it started to play a new clip. There was two hours worth of this, somehow, and they were barely thirty minutes in.

“That’s okay,” Donut promises, squeezing his hand again before letting it go. His face is covered with tear trails, not unlike Simmons, but he handles it with far more grace as the cyborg finally gives in and sneezes. “We’ll figure this out.”

“What haven’t we tried?” Simmons queries, desperate to talk about anything else as he disconnects from the T.V.

“Locking Church in his room?” Wash suggests.

“Tried that already.” Donut sighs. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“As long as it takes.” Carolina marches over, surprisingly gentle as she rests a hand on his back. “You can do this. We’ll keep trying.”

“Okay.” Donut whispers. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Notes:

61: Tucker did not prove useful.  
62: Doc can’t find anything wrong with Church.  
63: More footage for the forbidden folder.  
64: Carolina attempted to prevent separation from Church. He is always alone when he dies.  
65: Kai pointed out we should try telling EVERYONE. Everyone was varying degrees of suspicious and scandalized. Church died an hour early while we were gone.  
66: Fuuuuuuuuuck.  
67: Sarge was in charge of security. Not helpful! We thought Lopez might have been saying something useful but Grif translated and he was just cussing us out.

Simmons wakes up with a headache and stretches for a moment too long. He brushes his teeth tiredly, and skips his daily optimization and settles into his secret guilty pleasure: Grif’s old hoodie that he stole from him years ago.

It helped that it said ‘Harvard’ across the front.

He decides he doesn’t care what Grif thinks of him stealing clothes. 

He steps onto the bus and regrets his decision as Grif’s eyes train on him.

“Is that mine?”

“Well, actually, its been mine for a few years now.” Simmons quips. “But, I suppose, it used to be yours.”

“You look good.” Grif clears his throat, pointedly looking away.

“Yeah, wearing pajamas that don’t fit is all the rage these days.” He responds, steadying himself with a hand on the pole.

“Pajamas?” He asks, an octave too high. Craning his neck, Simmons can see that his side of Grif’s skin is bright red.

“Uh, yeah? What’s wrong with you?” Simmons scowls, self consciously playing with the hood.

“You can’t be serious.” Grif huffs, resolutely turning away from him.

“And you couldn’t make less sense if you tried.”

“There’s no way you don’t know.”

“You’d be surprised.” Simmons responds, giving into the fact that he was always going to be confused by Grif.

“Showing up in my hoodie,” Grif stresses, drawing out each sentence. “Saying you sleep in it, with your bedhead and–“ Grif groans, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry? Do you want your hoodie back?” Simmons tries, he really does, to think of how he could have possibly insulted Grif, but he has a migraine and only one of them went to Harvard.

“How are you missing the point so badly?” He shakes his head. “You’re not stupid. Figure it out.”

“Listen, I have a killer headache and if I try to think of any words longer than two syllables, I’ll die. Just tell me.”

“You look adorable and I want to kiss you.” Grif snaps, scowling at him. “Is that clear enough for you?”

Simmons briefly short circuits.

Grif has already turned away again, sulking.

“Uh, no, actually. But, clearly only one of us is willing to be clear.” Simmons clears his throat, fighting against his rising blush. “I’ve had a crush on you for years.”

Grif blinks. “You’re fucking kidding me. You stole my hoodie because you have a massive crush on me?”

“Yes? Why the fuck else would I do that?”

“To be an asshole? Because you want people to think you went to Harvard?”

“Ah, yes.” Simmons gazes skywards. “Because everyone definitely thinks that this is mine and I just like all my clothing to try to slip off my shoulders.”

“You have a crush on me,” Grif repeats. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“You said you wanted to kiss me.” Simmons frowns, crossing his arms.

“No, I mean, we could have been dating for years.” He laughs shortly, shaking his head. “How long was this exactly? Because I thought you hated my guts for the first year.”

“I hated your messiness. And then how you couldn’t even commit to being messy and cleaned everything.”

“I have OCD! That is not my fault.”

“I was also, maybe, a little bit mad that you were hot and thought I was lame.”

“That’s true.” Grif grins, recalling their early days. “You were so uptight, I didn’t really like you until I saw you drunk.”

The bus almost passed their work, but luckily Simmons grabbed the line just in time.

“Come on, we can talk about this over some bugged lines of code. For today, you’re my rubber duck.”

Grif’s lip twitches and Simmons already knows he’s going to be mercilessly teased. “Does that mean I get to bathe with you?”

Simmons has heard many, many jokes over the years, but he always brushed them off. Knowing that he and Grif both liked each other while hearing a joke like that made him blush bright red.

“Simmons?” Donut prompts, walking up and looking between them with too-knowing eyes.

“What?” Simmons tilts his head, because they rarely talked to each other since Donut was transferred.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know you were transferred to the freelancers.” Donut says it slowly, searching his face.

“Uh, okay? Why?” Simmons couldn’t remember applying there.

“That’s my dream job.” Grif grumbles under his breath as Donut replies.

“Don’t worry, you can start tomorrow.” Donut smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Have a good day.”

“Well, that didn’t answer my question.” Simmons drags a hand through his hair, ignoring any sinking suspicions in favor of Grif.

“Come on, freelancer, I can’t want to see the look on Sarge’s face when he realizes you’re leaving us.” Grif nudges him, showing him towards the door.

Simmons drags his feet, paling immediately and deciding he wanted to be anywhere else. “Uh, actually, maybe I should go tell Donut I–“

“What are you two doing?” Sarge barks at them, bring Grif up short.

“Go ahead,” he smiles and Simmons cannot for the life of him remember why he likes him. “Tell him.”

“I was just telling Grif.” Simmons glares at him. “I was going to reject the freelancers’ offer.”

“Freelancers. The freelancers that work for both red and blue team.” Sarge grits out. “What in the Hell for?”

Okay, that was a little rude. “Uh, sir?”

“You’re our man on the inside, Simmons.” Sarge grips his shoulders. “Don’t lose sight of your mission.”

“We should have a going away party,” Grif adds.

“Brilliant idea, even if its coming from you, Grif! If we all act happy he’s leaving, they’ll never suspect he’s a spy!”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Lopez, order a cake!”

The cake, admittedly, is delicious. Simmons eats it with no small amount of distaste before Grif sinks into his side.

“Hey, freelancer.”

“Hey, asshole.” Simmons sighs, passing Grif the remains of his cake.

“Dude, thanks. You know,” he starts, popping the fork into his mouth. “This is kind of like an indirect kiss.”

“Stop it, we’re at work.” Simmons hisses, already red in the face from the implications.

“Oh, come on, you’re embarrassed?” Grif slings an arm over his shoulders. “I could always make it a direct kiss.”

“Grif,” Simmons grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will kiss you, but not in here.”

“The door’s right there.” He offers, quickly finishing off the last of the cake.

“Eager much?” Simmons raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve had a crush on me longer than I have on you.” Grif points out, leaving his empty bowl on the table.

“Shut up, you liked me even though you thought I was straight.”

“You liked me enough to give me your organs.”

“One, one organ. You’re just lucky we were a match.” Simmons groans, stepping out of the building and immediately being accosted by Grif.

His arms slide around his waist and Simmons has to tip his head to kiss him, but its warm and soft and he instantly relaxes from their previous back and forth.

“Been thinking about doing that all day,” Grif murmurs, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip.

“I can tell.” Simmons gulps, struggling to keep up. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

Grif goes without any protest, settling into the bench next to him. “So, what’s your perfect first date?”

“You’d hate it.”

“Tell me.”

“Star wars and star trek marathon, but we alternate series so you never get to see the continuation until you’ve finished the other movie.”

“Movies mean popcorn. I’m in.”

“We should build a pillow fort,” Simmons decides, looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful sunset.

“What are you doing out here?” Church interrupts, barging in with a pissed expression.

“Sitting around, you?” Grif shrugs, giving the man a pointed once over.

“I just got back from dinner with my dad.” Church huffs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You go in there, Carolina and Wash are going to bully you into it.” Simmons shakes his head. “Just go home.”

“Can’t,” Church sighs. “I’ve gotta lock up the building.”

“You can…” Simmons shoots Grif a look, but he keeps a perfectly bland expression. “Sit out here?”

“I guess.” Church coughs into his fist. “Who are you guys anyways?”

“Red team.” Grif says like that explains everything.

“Simmons,” he points to himself, then his partner. “Grif.”

“Church.” He sighs. “I should’ve taken Tex’s last name while I had the chance.”

“That bad, huh?” Simmons prompts, some niggling feeling telling him this was important.

“Worse. I’m so pissed I gave myself a stomachache. How the fuck does that happen?” Church’s hands ball into fists. “My dad’s a dick, just once I wanna look him in the eye and tell him I wish he was dead.”

“I get that,” Simmons admits. “My dad kicked me out of the house at eighteen.”

“He what?” Grif interrupts with wide eyes, instinctively grabbing Simmons’ hand.

“Yeah, what about you, Church?”

“Sometimes,” he says quietly. “I really think he’s trying to kill me. He beat me as a kid trying to make me better, to make me him… all he did was make me angry.”

“Why would you go to dinner with him?” Simmons asks softly, knowing he’d cut his own dad off the moment he decided he wasn’t welcome in the house.

“I don’t know.” Church curses, slamming a palm to his forehead. “Because if I didn’t he’d find me? Because sometimes I wish me and Carolina had a dad?”

“You should have someone come with you next time,” Simmons suggests softly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it on your own.”

“I’m not letting anyone see me like that.” Church snorts. “Shit, I’m not letting anyone see him.” Church pauses, mouth hanging open. “I said I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“Don’t worry, our lips are sealed.” Grif mimes zipping his lips shut.

“Sounds like you really needed to get that out.” Simmons adds.

“Yeah, but not to two strangers.” With that, Church enters the building, leaving them behind.

“Well, that was nice.” Simmons scoffs, feeling Grif squeeze his hand.

“Your dad kicked you out?”

“Yeah, said I was old enough and he didn’t want… well, three separate slurs said in conjunction mooching off of him. He said he’d take me back if I proved worthwhile.” Simmons hesitates, rubbing a thumb over Grif’s knuckles. “He’s been trying to call me.”

“Shit. Uh, my mom wasn’t great and then she died.” Grif explains. “I can’t believe we’ve never talked about this before.”

“We’re emotionally stunted.” Simmons smiles, resting his head on Grif’s shoulder. The sunset is so pretty and Grif is so comfortable, wrapping an arm around Simmons and guiding his head to rest in his lap.

Simmons wakes up with a smile, stretching and feeling overall pleasant. Today was going to be a good day.

He steps into the bathroom and runs through his routine.

There are sixty eight previous todays.

He shuts his eyes tight, but the notice doesn’t leave. The date, followed by v.69.

Relevant montage, he dove in.

Donut explains things.

Simmons explains things.

Simmons… wishes today was going to be a good day. Just one day. Not nearly seventy remixes of the same day.

He gets on the bus just in time.

“Wow, who pissed in your cereal?” Grif asks.

“I was having a great morning,” Simmons bemoans. “I just had to open my files.”

“What?” Grif squints at him.

“Nothing.”

The rest of the ride is quiet and Simmons starts taking the path to the freelancers’ office without thinking.

“Woah, where are you going?”

“Uh, I’m a freelancer now. My application was accepted.” He lies, scratching the back of his neck.

“That was so weird.” Grif moves closer, examining him. “You did your blinky lie thing to say you were accepted, but not that you’re a freelancer?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your cyborg eye glows a bit harsher when you lie.” Grif explains, tapping the red prosthetic and smudging the lenses.

“Great. Good to know.” Simmons absolutely cannot stand Grif being that close and turns on his heel, walking directly into Donut.

“Simmons! Ready for your first day as a freelancer?” Donut prompts, poking his arm in an overly familiar way.

“Yep, let’s go.” Simmons grabs Donut, taking him down a route his feet know too well. He lets go of Donut before he has time to question how easy it was to reach out to him.

“I know you’re behind on footage, but we’ve already reviewed all of it.” Donut explains, oblivious to Simmons’ revelation. “Well, except yesterday, but I need to tell you. Your forbidden folder is filled with footage of you and Grif. I think yesterday might be one of those.”

“Me and–what?”

“You and Grif,” Donut nods. “You keep getting together and then the timeline resets.”

“That’s… really sad.” Simmons frowns. “Do you think yesterday might be worth looking at?”

“Ughh, maybe?” Donut jostles his arm. “Simmons I don’t want to make you watch it if it hurts.”

“But it could be useful.” Simmons takes a breath and pulls up the video.

“You had an entirely new day yesterday. You knew you were going to be a freelancer, but didn’t remember why.” Donut clicks his tongue. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I’m just going to… set this to two times speed.” Simmons clears his throat, watching his painful attempt at getting ready for the day.

“Alright, here, sit down. Carolina and Church should be in soon.” Donut sits next to him, a protective hand on his arm as Simmons watches himself be a massive screw up, yet somehow he did better than today’s Simmons.

He spends most of the party being talked at by Sarge, so he fast forwards until–

“What time does Church die?” Simmons interrupts, pausing the footage.

“Around eleven.” Donut frowns. “Some days we didn’t see him after he left work. Sometimes he dies early.”

“So, not natural causes, possibly different methods–Church, your dad is trying to kill you.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Church asks, halfway through the door.

“Here, let me–“ Simmons connects to the T.V, pulling up the footage of Church.

“Is that me? I’ve never talked to you dumbasses before.”

“Time loop, Church, keep up.” Carolina whispers, watching the scene unfold with a critical eye.

“Here, you went to dinner, and now your stomach hurts.” Simmons gestures to the screen. “You were poisoned and I’m guessing you died at your usual time, because you almost always go to dinner. But, if you don’t go, you’re still killed, because your dad has multiple contingency plans. If you don’t go to dinner, he’ll find you anyways, and you’re so focused on not letting others see you with him that you slip away, preventing anyone from witnessing your death.”

“Simmons!” Donut squeals, wrapping him in a hug. “Oh my gosh, thank you! I was so worried I’d have to reset again!”

“Great, my dad’s trying to kill me.” Church falls into a chair with his head in his hands.

“And even if we stop him today, he’ll try again tomorrow.” Simmons continues, realizing with dawning horror what that means.

“We can’t tell anyone because we don’t have proof.” Carolina continues, massaging her temples. “Church, someone has to stay with you.”

“Fuck that, I’m not letting any of you freaks defend me like some piss baby.” Church hisses, pushing his glasses up into his hair. “I’ll see it coming now, I’ll make it.”

“No, you won’t. You knew you were going to die every other time and it never did anything.” Donut protests, pouting at him.

“Its different this time.”

“Its not.” Carolina disagrees.

“Donut, you got this?” Simmons questions quietly.

“Definitely.” He responds, fierce and at a normal volume.

“Great, there’s something I need to do.” Simmons stands, cracking his neck. “Something I really, really don’t want to.”

“Good luck with Grif, Sims.” Donut smiles faintly as he leaves before turning to tear into Church.

Simmons sighs, pausing in the hall. So many things could go wrong. Maybe Grif would want to be with him normally, but after this? No way.

“Hello red person, can you move?”

Simmons’ head jerks up, staring at Caboose. “Uh, sure.”

“You do not normally stand in hallways.” Caboose states, moving past him.

“Yeah, uh. I guess I’m just worried about Church.”

“What? What’s wrong with Church?” Caboose frowns, the expression harsh in contrast to his soft face.

“Someone’s trying to kill him, but he refuses to take any back up.” Simmons shakes his head.

“Church is my best friend.” Caboose nods, already walking away.

“Bye?” Simmons sucks in a breath. No point in delaying the inevitable. He quietly edits in yesterday to his forbidden footage.

“Hey, Grif?” He calls out, knocking on the red room’s door.

“Traitor!” Sarge hollers, throwing a mouse at him which only succeeds in having the mouse pop apart against his metal half.

“Later,” Simmons promises, waving Grif forwards. “Come on, I need to talk to you. Its serious.”

To his credit, Grif follows immediately.

“Um, so. Okay, actually, its probably better if I just play the footage.” Simmons stops outside the now empty freelancers’ room. “Come on.”

“Shit, you guys have a flatscreen?”

“Yeah, its real useful.” Simmons connects immediately, pulling up the forbidden footage folder. “You should sit down.”

“So this is serious serious?” Grif asks, taking a seat.

“Secret time loop phrase.” Simmons confirms, pressing play and sitting as far away from Grif as possible.

“Simmons, you… this is us.” He says, dumbfounded, watching himself through Simmons’ eye.

“Yeah. All sixty eight other versions of us.” Simmons swallows, looking away. He just knows if he thinks about it too much he’ll start crying.

“Wow.”

Two hours. Two hours later and Grif stays silent. Simmons has even settled in to watch, catching glimpses of days he doesn’t remember.

It ends with him falling asleep on Grif’s shoulder.

Simmons disconnects from the T.V.

He hears some muffled shouting, but doesn’t dare look away from Grif.

“That’s so unfair.” Grif finally speaks. “I got to kiss you and I don’t even remember it.”

“Neither do I,” Simmons admits, scratching a hand through his hair. “I just… watch my recordings. I didn’t know what this folder contained until we watched it together.”

“So, is our…” Grif gestures vaguely. “Anniversary today, but we’ve already been dating for sixty eight days?”

“That’s what you’re focused on?” Simmons gapes at him, not sure why he expected anything else.

“What is it, our two month anniversary?” Grif pauses. “That is, if you still want to.”

“Yes.” Simmons blurts, smacking his forehead. “I can’t believe you accepted all of that so quickly.”

“Well, its basically what I’ve been dreaming about for years. As far as I’m concerned, the universe is just catching up.”

“The bad news is that every time the time loop resets it means Church died.” Simmons taps the table.

“How?” Grif asks.

“We think his dad is trying to kill him.”

“Well, you’ve done all you can, right?” Grif crosses the room to sit next to them, linking their pinkies together. “Lets just enjoy this.”

“I am feeling kind of… lazy.” Simmons smiles.

“Dude. Nice.”

Simmons spends the next few hours half wrapped in Grif’s arms and even getting to know how his past selves felt when Grif’s lips finally touched theirs.

“I’m really glad I told you,” Simmons mumbles, his face smashed into Grif’s shoulder.

“Me, too.” Grif hums, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Simmons was sure they’d be back to bickering by tomorrow. If tomorrow ever came.

There’s a loud crash outside and Simmons stands up so fast he gets dizzy. Thankfully, Grif follows him at a slower pace, and steadies him with a hand on his shoulder.

“That can’t be good.” Simmons sighs. “Let’s check it out.”

The door is just through blue team’s room, so they slip outside, noting how empty the place seemed.

“You are not nice!” Caboose shouts, Simmons and Grif walking directly out into the alley to see an older version of Church get decked by Caboose.

“Jesus,” actual Church mutters. “Okay, I’m–I’m calling the cops.”

“No thanks.” Grif immediately goes back inside.

“I can’t believe my father tried to kill me.” Church shudders. “Yes, I can.”

“That was your father?” Caboose questions aloud.

“Uh, Caboose. Buddy. Thanks.” Church shakes his head, staring at his phone. “Why didn’t you leave like I told you to?”

“You’re my best friend.” Caboose answers, like its obvious.

“Fuck.” Church slides his glasses off his nose, folding them and sliding them into his shirt’s pocket. “I–Caboose. How do you feel about me?”

“You are my best friend?” Caboose repeats slowly, obviously confused.

“That’s–that’s great.” Church laughs weakly. “Um, remember Texas?”

“I did not like Texas.”

“Okay, uh. Turns out my type is people who could kick my ass.” Church shakes his head. “Fuck, how didn’t I see that before?”

“See what before?”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy.”

Caboose tugs at his sleeve. “Just because I don’t understand things doesn’t mean you shouldn’t explain them.”

“Geez, okay.” Church steels himself, rolling his shoulders. “I’m really glad you were here, Caboose.”

“I agree.” He nods, looking no less confused than before.

“And I realized, uh, I don’t really want you to be my best friend. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Why can’t I be both?” Caboose pouts.

“Caboose, do you even know what I’m saying?” Church shakes his head, eyes flicking to his unconscious father.

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have said that.” Caboose’s expression only becomes harder. “I know I don’t understand a lot, but you should trust me when I say I do understand things.”

“Really? And you want to be my boyfriend, too, huh?”

Caboose sweeps Church into a kiss, dipping him like a period drama. Church makes a strangled noise before he wraps his arms around Caboose’s neck and returns the favor.

Church senior groans.

Simmons slips back inside and decides that Church can figure out he needs to call 911 on his own.


End file.
